Make a Wish
by Artful Doodler
Summary: Set in a alternate universe where Tony Stark is not the billionaire we see him as. Taken from Bruce Banner's point of view.


It was my birthday, the big two-five; dinner at a new restaurant, something low-key. Just a few friends and ample quantities of booze to help usher me out of my twinkhood. The place was packed solid, sardine-can tight, with loud hipsters, louder music, and a strange oceanic décor. We were seated dead centre, at a small table, our elbows bump, bump, bumping. Not our usual surroundings, not by a long shot.

"Why exactly did you guys pick _this_ place?" I asked my friends, not as graciously as I should have, all things considered.

They smiled, shrugged, and replied in unison, "Hot waiters."

"Ah," I ah-ed, fingertip to nose, a nod of my head. "Got it." And I did.

I looked around, however, and none were in sight. Go figure. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, "Good evening, gentlemen. Can I take your drink orders?"

I glanced over my shoulder, my gaze taking in long, tapered fingers before it moved up a hairy forearm, to a starched white shirt, broad shoulders, and finally, _gulp_, to eyes the colour of Belgian chocolate – an exotic brown, startling in their intensity; radiant.

"Gin and tonic," I squeaked out. "Light on the tonic."

He grinned, revealing teeth as white as fresh mountain snow, straight as proverbial arrows. I gulped again. Time, as they say, stood still, the din surround us receding before switching to mute. The only presence I now felt was his. _Kaboom_, went my heart as he wrote our orders down. "Coming right up," he announced, turning around and walking away, his perfect ass swaying to my heartbeat. _Kaboom_: my heart again, threatening to explode.

I looked at my friends, my mouth agape. "Told you so," they all said, with knowing smiles.

"Fuck," I managed. "You guys saw him too? I wasn't hallucinating from lack of food?"

They shook their heads, one of them replying, "No, but I'd stop eating altogether if that was the case."

I laughed, the clamour around us turning back to a normal pitch, the universe righting itself upon his departure. But not for long. Oh, hell no. He returned lickity-split, drinks in hand, smile in full force. My mouth went dry as the Sahara. Good thing he set my cocktail down first; I drained it in two gulps, my thirst unquenched.

"Ready to order, gentlemen?" he asked, his voice tumbling over me like a crashing wave, pulling me in, dragging me under.

Shell-shocked, I hadn't even looked at my menu. "Steak," I blurted out. "Rare."

He laughed, the wave washing over me again. "Um, this is a sushi restaurant, sir."

"Oh," I oh-ed, suddenly understanding the Japanese-style furnishings. "Then, um, tuna. Raw."

My friends ordered their meals while I tried my best not to stare at his frim jaw, lined on either side with a soft brown fuzz, and then back to his eyes, deep brown pools with tones of amber in them that seemed to dance in the dim lighting. I truly tried. And failed. Miserably. "And another round," I added, just before he turned away.

He put his hand on my shoulder, flesh on fabric, the heat searing through. "In a jiff, sir."

And then, to my profound dismay, he was gone. My heart skipped a beat as I again turned to face my friends. "Did he just say _jizz_?"

"Jiff, Bruce," I was corrected. "Back in a jiff. Geez, get your head out of the fucking gutter."

Gutter nothing. My mind was in a wedding chapel, with white doves flying out of a three-tiered cake, the photographer telling us to say cheese. "Oh, um, yeah. Jiff." A wave of red rushed up my neck, flushing my cheeks as it sped across my face, a brush fire that swept its way down to my pulsing cock, now ramrod straight against my thigh. It wasn't that I believed in live at first sight, necessarily, but lust was a whole other kettle of fish – pardon the expression.

The rest of the night went by mostly in a blur, crystal-clear only upon our waiter's sadly too-infrequent returns to the table. Not that I ate much; my heart was galloping past my stomach by that point. I excused myself toward the end of our meal, pleading a need for the restroom, but I went out the back exit, desperately in search of fresh air to help me unscramble my much-addled brain.

I shut the door and turned around. All was pitch black beyond the reach of the dim overhead lighting. "Hello?" I whispered, certain I heard breathing beyond the wee cone of brightness.

"Hello." A man's features emerged from the darkness. "Just taking a break. Did you need something?" Our waiter's head tilted, his smile reappearing.

Oh, fuck. His laser-intense eyes bored through me. "Oh, um, no. I was, um, taking a break, too." I laughed, nervously, looked away, briefly. "Birthdays can be so, um, exhausting." I leaned against the door for much-needed support.

His smile widened, the area around us suddenly a hundred watts brighter. "Well then, happy birthday," he said, his voice rising as he lifted his hands in hearty congratulations. He stepped closer, his minty-fresh breath mingling with my gin-infused breath. "Did you get everything you wanted?"

The question hung in the air, tinged with something instantly recognizable: desire. I locked my eyes with him. "Great food, good friends, strong drinks. What else could a boy want?"

His grin mirrored my own as he closed the gap between us, his lips meeting mine, soft like a cloud, his tongue darting, snaking and coiling its way inside my mouth, and we swapped warm, wonderful spit. "How about a birthday kiss for the boy who has everything, then?" he whispered after he withdrew his tongue, the palm of his hand caressing my cheek.

"Oh, yeah. I'll have another," I whispered back, all smiles, nearly breathless. His arms pulled me in and I fairly melted as something hard poked me in the groin. I reached to cop a feel. "Chopsticks," I groaned. Just chopsticks.

He pulled away, his smile ever-present. "Which reminds me, I have to get back inside." He ran his fingers through my hair, tracing his way down my face, my neck. "Sorry."

My own smile faded. "Yeah, no problem. Thanks for the um…"

"Birthday present? My pleasure." He winked and reached for the door, saying over his shoulder, "Name's Tony, by the way."

"Bruce," I hollered back as the door clicked closed behind him, echoing in the darkness that abruptly enveloped me. "And, man, are you getting a good tip."

I waited a few seconds as my breathing returned to normal and my hard dick settled back into place, and followed him inside. I sat and finished my meal, the burn of his lips lingering on mine. And there he was, at my side, a bowl of coconut ice cream in his upturned hand, a candle burning atop. He set the bowl down. "Happy birthday," he said, leaning into me, blowing warm swirls inside my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "Make a wish."

I shut my eyes good and tight, made that wish, then opened my eyes and puffed out the flickering flame. My friends applauded, toasted me with the remains of their drinks and wished me well. And our waiter did so again, his hand on my shoulder, adding a subtle squeeze that sent an emotional burst through my body. I looked up, my smile as big and bright as his. Whatever I was feeling, he was feeling it too. No mistaking it.

Soon afterward, dinner was over, the plates cleared, the bill paid. Waiter Tony disappeared into the kitchen as my friends ushered me into the night. I tucked my hands inside my jacket and scrunched my shoulders as the distance between us grew and grew.

My birthday celebration continued that night as we hopped from one bar to another. But my heart, needless to say, clearly wasn't into it. Literally. I'd left it back at the restaurant. So when the festivities ended, I said my thanks and headed with haste back to the restaurant. Fuck if I wasn't too late. The place was sealed up tight. No Tony in sight. I shut my eyes and pictured our brief tryst, my smile momentarily returning. "I'll be back, Tony," I whispered. "Count on it."

And back I came, waiting a few days so as not to seem as desperate as I really was. And, man, was I ever desperate. That kiss, those eyes, both were impossible to forget. Not that I wanted to.

The place was jammed, just like my birthday night. I sat as a lonely table for one and waited. And waited some more. Barely nibbling on my cold spring roll. No Tony. And when the waiter came to fill up my tea, I finally managed to ask, "Um, is Tony working tonight?"

He smiled. "Sorry," he said. "Tony doesn't work here anymore. Yesterday was his last night."

Too late. Too fucking late. Murphy's Law was having a field day with my life. "Oh, OK, um, do you know where he went? I mean, um, to work?"

The guy shrugged. "Beats me. Big town. Lots of restaurants." He turned and walked away.

Big town he said. Lots of restaurants. Not good, not good at all. I groaned and downed the remnants of my meal before heading out. Lots of restaurants. All listed online, of course. Cheaper to call than to eat at every one, I figured.

xxoOoxx

Here's how my search went down: I phoned at least twenty restaurants a night, all from library stacks, off in a deserted corner just after classes. As if graduate school wasn't exhausting enough. Still, what choice did I have? Oh, yeah, yeah, the obvious choice would've been to throw in the towel, move on, to find another Mr. Right Now. But I liked the towel. I hoped to wrap it around his waist someday as we exited the shower together. Call me a hopeless romantic. Nah, nix that; call me a hopeful romantic. I made it through a quarter of the listings in just a few days. Not that I found Tony. But I would, and soon. I just knew I would. I had to.

But soon didn't come soon enough. Or at all, for that matter. I finished dialling the restaurants whose names started with _R_, _S_, _T_, _U_, and _V_, and I knew that few remained from _W_, _X_, _Y_, and _Z_. I was fucked. And not in a good way. He was gone. For good. Well, not for good. For bad. Really bad. What was I to do? Walk the streets staring at every guy who passed, hoping beyond hope that one of them would be him? Expand my search to nearby towns? I closed my laptop, flicked off my cell, and dropped my head onto the cubicle desk. "Damn," I cursed. "Where the _fuck_ are you, Tony?"

And then, from out of the silence, "Hello?" A voice floated from somewhere. "Did someone just say my name?"

Was Murphy's Law playing tricks on me again? I poked my head around the side of the cubicle and looked down the hall, and there he was, striding towards me, his eyes shining like beacons. "Tony?" I managed, standing up, my knees wobbling at the unexpected shock of seeing him again, and so out of place.

"Bruce? That you?" he asked, his pace quickening.

"What are you doing here?" we both asked at the same time.

"I go to school here," we both said, again simultaneously, smiles stretching wide across our faces.

"Wait," I said, "My turn." I paused, collecting myself as best I could. "But I thought you were a waiter."

"No," he replied, with a chuckle. "I'm a poor grad student who sometimes needs to work in order to make ends meet."

Which explained why I couldn't find him, despite my best efforts. "Ah," I ah-ed. I hesitated, looked down, then back up, drowning in his magnificent pools of brown. "I, um, went back to the restaurant. You, um, you weren't there."

The chuckle grew to a hearty laugh. "Yeah, well, my ends met. For the time being." He paused, his hand reaching out to hold mine, his fingers entwining with my fingers. "You, uh, you went back to the restaurant to, to find me?"

I squeezed his hand. "I hate sushi," I told him.

"So why go back?"

My heart pulsed. _Boom_. _Boom_. _Boom_. "Well, _you_ I like."

He closed the gap between us, holding me tight – at long last – in his strong arms. His lips brushed mine, and he rested his hands on the small of my back, just under my shirt, and he whispered, "Did you get that wish you asked for?"

I nodded. "In spades, now," I replied, my mouth full on his, a kiss to be forever remembered. Perfect.

Then something long and thick and hard poked me. "Chopsticks?" I asked.

He pulled away, just an inch, locking eyes with me as he led my hand to his crotch. "Not this time," he replied. "It's another birthday present. Belated. Want to unwrap it?"

"Fuck yeah," I rasped, the zipper sliding down as I again melted into him, my hand on the best present ever.

And once the package is opened, there's no taking it back. Not that I would ever want to. Sometimes birthday wishes really do come true.


End file.
